


The Wrong Number

by lightsabove



Category: British Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:30:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightsabove/pseuds/lightsabove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You send some interesting photos to a wrong number.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wrong Number

You felt warmth spread over your body as you wiped water droplets off with a soft white towel. The bath you had just taken was the most relaxing thing that had happened to you in a long time. You sigh and settle onto your plush bed, not bothering to find clothing. You lay on your back, hum a relaxing tune, and ran your hands down your body to the wetness between your legs. Picking up your phone, you move to make a little palate of pillows and blankets on the floor in front of your long mirror.

 You snap a sensual picture of you posing seductively on the floor in the mirror, and take a few more, exposing yourself bit by bit. Dialing in the number of your friend, who provides you with certain benefits, you send them the photos. You grin smugly as you await their response. While you wait, you flutter your eyelashes closed and began to touch yourself softly. Your breathing becomes heavy as you envision a sexy British man using his own fingers and mouth instead of your fingers. You lift your hips with a moan as your phone sounds.

 You pause and reach over to grab it. You smile in anticipation as the message is opened. Your breath catches as you realize it’s from someone who you didn’t know. Your face flushes, and you find yourself embarrassed, until you see the picture they sent you back. You swallow as you look at the picture of himself in his hand, long and thick.

  **I have never done this before. You are beautiful. I want to see more. Please?**

 Your eyes widen, and you know it’s a horrible idea, but the idea of sharing yourself with a stranger, of knowing you turned this man on, aroused you more than you had felt in a long time. After a moment, another message with a picture popped up. His hand had moved up his shaft, and a drop of precum was at the tip.

  **No expectations. Just release. Promise, love.**

 You smile at his words. You reach down, touching yourself once more, imagining his body moving over hers. You make sure to throw in a glimpse of your breasts in the photo. You take a few pictures and sent a message back.

  _I want to see more of you. See what you’re doing to me?_

**As you wish, beautiful. Imagine my fingers brushing against your nipples, sampling those pretty buds with my lips.**

_Mm, imagine my tongue sliding over your tip, my hands moving up and down slowly as I take you inside my mouth._

**Imagine my hands moving through your hair, my thumb brushing your gorgeous lips as you look up at me.**

_Imagine my body sliding over yours, brushing my lips against your chest as I take you deep inside me._

**Imagine my hands gripping your hips as I thrust upwards inside you, over and over again.**

_Imagine my body stiffening over yours, clinching you inside me as I shudder._

**Imagine my arms wrapping around you, pulling your shuddering body close, and spilling myself inside you.**

You are panting heavily. The last picture you sent was of your hand glistening with your wetness as you orgasm. Your head cloudy, you try to catch your breath as your phone notifies you have another message. You gulp in air as you look at the picture – a beautiful, large, manly hand holding his shaft, messy with his release. You groan and read the message.

  **That was incredible. I have never done this before. It’s not like me.**

 00000000000000000000000

 Benedict felt like he had turned into another person. His normal self would have never responded in the way this new person did. Maybe it was because his love life was shit, or maybe because he was so tired of being expected to be proper and good all the time. His body was covered in sweat, and he was more relaxed than he had been in a long time. His phone pinged.

  _It was quite fantastic. I admit, this is not my first time, but the first time with a wrong number._

**You do this often?**

  _Not with random men! That’s what a good, very attractive male friend helps me with._

  **I see.**

  _Oh, god, that makes me sound like a slut. I have only slept with one man in three years, honest!_

 Ben raised an eyebrow at the message, but he felt a bit relieved. Obviously, he had no reason to trust what she said, but it was a positive thing to think, right? His eyelids were fluttering – he was going to fall asleep at any moment. He quickly sent a text as he yawned.

  **All this excitement has me exhausted. Sleep well, beautiful.**

  _Same here, handsome. Sleep well. No need to respond – I know this is just a wrong number turned best-sexual-thing-that-has-happened-in-a-long-time._

 Ben smiled at that, and resisted the urge to reply. She was right – this was the end of their small affair. She didn’t know who he was, and he didn’t know who she was. It was better that way. He set his phone on the nightstand, and made himself comfortable in bed.

 0000000000000000000000000

 You wake up refreshed and ready to go. You decided to dress up a bit today – throwing on a sundress and strappy wedges. Your hair was looking fabulous, and you smiled at yourself in the mirror. You gather your things in your bag, making sure you have your key, wallet, and mobile. You rush to catch the tube, although you are going to be early to your job. You walk with the crowd, hopping on and finding a seat in a full car. You huff as another person sits on your left, your right side already squished against another passenger.

 After a few moments of riding, you sigh and get your phone out of the bag. You punch in the wrong number from last night, and stare at it for a few moments, making sure the pictures and messages of the night before never pop up on the screen. No need for everyone to know your business. Deciding to take a chance, you punch in a message and send it.

  _I hope you have a lovely day, handsome. Maybe thinking of me may help._

 You smile as it sends, and then jump as you feel a vibration in the pants of the passenger next to you. Your heart races, knowing full well it could be a complete coincidence. You feel the stranger pull out his mobile, and look at the message. You finally turn, curious as to the person sitting next to you. Your gaze lands on a familiar face, which is smirking at the message.

 Benedict Cumberbatch. He doesn’t even look up as he punches a message into his phone. You pray that it’s for you, but then you pray that it is not. You have no idea how you would handle yourself if this man, this amazing human being, was your sexy wrong number from last night. Your phone buzzes, and your stomach drops heavily. You slowly open the message.

  **It has gotten much better with those images, beautiful. Same to you.**

 Your teeth clenches, and your body flushes. In your mind, you know you should turn to the man next to you and tell him. On the other hand, you desperately do not want to put either of you in this position, especially in a public area. The tube slows down, and Benedict pushes himself up, pulling his hat a little bit further down on his head. Your stop isn’t for another fifteen minutes, but you hurriedly follow him off the train. You watch him turn around a corner, and hurriedly follow him, trying your best to not be noticed. He walks into a fairly empty café, and you pull out your mobile.

  _I would love to have coffee with you. Are you free right now?_

**I thought this was a one-time thing?**

_Do you want it to be?_

**I don’t know.**

_Coffee, not a commitment._

**Sounds doable. Do you know Rick’s Café?**

_No, but I’ve heard of it. Meet you there?_

**I just walked in. How long will it take you to be here?**

_I’m in the area. Be there in five minutes. I’m the girl in the dress that will be walking in._

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly as you make your way down the street. You make it there in almost exactly five minutes, and hesitate just on the side of the window. He will surely recognize you from the train, and you can’t lie about knowing who he is. You try to think of a way to not sound like you had planned this, but nothing came to mind. Might as well wing it.

 You walk in shyly, gripping your bag tightly in your hand as you flight your eyes around the room. You see him in the corner, anxiously biting his lip and fiddling with his mobile. He glanced down at it, and then up at the doorway, where you stood. You raise your eyebrows and lift her hands up in a little finger wave. His face flushes, but he smiles at you. You quickly walk to him and sit down in the chair opposite his.

 “You were on the train,” he says, his voice deep and fluid. You recognize a bit of nervousness in the tone.

 “Yes,” you answer sheepishly. “I didn’t know it was you until you answered my last text.”

 “Oh,” he murmurs, shyly looking back down at the phone in his hand. He fiddles with it a bit more, and you bring out a big smile on your face, trying to make him more comfortable.

 “I didn’t want to confront you on the train. Very public.”

 “Thank you,” he chuckles, moving his eyes back to yours. He then furrows his eyebrows. “How old are you?”

 “Twenty-five,” you answer, enjoying the panicked look in his eyes. Suddenly, he looks relieved, and you laugh boldly. “I know, I look young, but I even have a degree.”

 “Terrific,” he answers sincerely. Both of you gaze at each other with knowing and flirty smiles. You tell him your name and put your hand out.

 “Ben,” he answers, taking yours and shaking it lightly. Your hands linger, and you enjoy the feel of his big hands holding your little ones.

 “I know,” you murmur with a sheepish look, again. He blinks at you, and suddenly looks suspicious. You widen your eyes and raise your hands in a defensive position. “Now! I know that now. I didn’t know that last night. Promise.”

 He seems to believe you. You chat with each other, and as the café begins to fill, he says he has to take his leave. You panic slightly, not knowing what to do after this, but he took the reins.

 “May I keep your number? I’d like to have coffee again.”

 “Is that code or literally?” you ask with a smile.

 “Both,” he grins slyly. You laugh and agree to keep each other’s numbers. You continue to text throughout the day, night, and weeks on end.


End file.
